


Before the Duel

by whipstitch



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-29
Updated: 2011-06-29
Packaged: 2017-10-20 20:45:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/216928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whipstitch/pseuds/whipstitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Petyr challenges Brandon Stark for her hand, Catelyn is tasked with stopping it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before the Duel

Catelyn Tully considered herself the level-headed member of her family. While her sister cried and her brother panicked, Catelyn was the one who kept her composure and calmed the others down. Outbursts, in her opinion, solved nothing.

Tonight’s events merited an exception. After taking leave of her father, she ran to her room and screamed into a pillow until her throat was hoarse.

 _Damn you, Petyr!_ She punched the pillow, too angry at the moment to feel childish. What in the seven hells had possessed him? Challenging Brandon to a duel in front of everyone… he could not have done a more foolish thing if he’d tried. _And why?_ Catelyn could come up with no explanation. Petyr had been infatuated with her, she knew that, but surely a boyish fancy wouldn’t drive him to risk his life so stupidly. Would it?

And his life was not the only concern. After dispersing the guests with an astonishing amount of decorum, Catelyn’s father had taken her aside and impressed upon her the seriousness of the situation. Hoster did not want his ward to be killed, as he almost certainly would be if the duel took place. However, he wanted even less to incur the Starks’ ill will. If Brandon Stark was killed at Riverrun—as a guest, no less—few would fault Winterfell if they launched an attack.

“Brandon must be very fond of you. Some men would have called off the betrothal at such an insult. We are fortunate there, at least,” Hoster had told her. “Fix it, Cat. Please. None of us can afford this.”

 _Fix it how, Father? I hardly know what’s happening myself._ But she had to try. She tidied her hair in the mirror, breathed deeply until she at least gave the appearance of tranquility, and headed back to the hall. _Brandon,_ she decided. _I must go to Brandon first._

\- - - - -

His response was so long in coming that Catelyn feared he would refuse to see her, but at last a Stark man-at-arms bade her enter Brandon’s quarters. She found him gazing out the window, arms folded across his chest.

“My lord, I’m so sorry—”

“If you wanted to end the betrothal,” he said quietly, “you could have just asked. We could have thought of something better than this.”

“Brandon, no.” Catelyn stepped forward. “It isn’t that, I promise you.”

“What is it, then?” Brandon demanded. He turned to face her. “No matter how much he claims to love you, the boy must know the limits of his birth. How could he possibly think he had a chance at your hand without _your_ assurance that he would?”

Catelyn gaped at him. “I care about you very much, my lord,” she said with stiff courtesy. “I want nothing more than to be your lady wife. And even if you doubt that, you cannot for a moment think me so heartless and base that I would _arrange_ this mess.”

Brandon softened. “Forgive me. That was unkind.” He raked his fingers through his hair and sighed. “What of Petyr Baelish?”

“He is young, and evidently foolish.” Brandon chuckled at that, and Catelyn relaxed a bit. “People must understand that. Surely a half-mad challenge can’t be taken seriously. You don’t have to fight him.”

Brandon shook his head. “A challenge is a challenge, Catelyn, no matter who makes it. I won’t have it said that Brandon Stark ran from a duel. And were I Petyr, I would not want my words disregarded. It is a slight on _both_ our honors if I deny him. I must fight.”

Catelyn’s stomach lurched. “There must be another way,” she implored him. “Let me speak to Petyr. If I can talk some sense into him, will you pretend this never happened?”

“If he agrees to drop the matter… then so will I, if he apologizes,” Brandon said after some thought. “I have no quarrel with him unless he wants there to be.”

“Thank you.” Catelyn took his hand in hers and kissed it. “He’ll see reason, I’m sure of it.”

\- - - - -

Catelyn found Petyr’s door shut, but it did little to prevent the raised voices from carrying into the hallway.

“You’re _abandoning_ me?”

“I’m sorry.”

“What a coincidence. So am I.”

“You have to understand, I have no choice in this.”

“No choice? It seems to me you have three choices: support your friend, or support a man you hardly know. Rather clear-cut, I would say.”

“It’s not that simple! We made a _vow_ with the Starks, Littlefinger. We cannot break that. If I support you over Brandon—if the Tully heir does not support the Stark heir—look, you’ve always been better at figuring out these sorts of things than I am. You _must_ see that I’m honor-bound to squire for Brandon! I’m likely already breaking some code by loaning you my arms!”

“And if I win, that vow is void. We’ve been friends for years, Ed. Surely that is worth more than the temporary esteem of House Stark.”

“Of course it is!”

“Then you have an odd way of expressing yourself, squiring for the man who will try his best to kill me.”

“Look, I… I have to do what is best for my family.”

“…I see. And your family, of which I evidently am not a member, is best served by my death?”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Get out, Edmure.”

“You know that’s not what I—”

“Get _out!_ ”

Catelyn barely managed to step out of the way as the door crashed open. Edmure stumbled out as if he had been shoved and ran down the hall without noticing she was there. Her instinct was to follow him, but she stopped herself. She needed to talk to Petyr first; she’d have more luck comforting Edmure if she could tell him he had no duel to worry about anymore. She waited a few moments before knocking softly on the now-ajar door.

“What?” Petyr snapped. Catelyn stepped into the doorway, and his scowl left him. “Oh! Cat! Please, come in.”

Catelyn entered the room, unsure of how to begin. “I heard you and Ed arguing.”

Petyr rolled his eyes and chuckled. “Your brother is being something of an ass, yes. It’s nothing that unusual.”

There was silence. Petyr fidgeted. “So,” he said after a few moments. “What colors do you think I should wear tomorrow? Custom dictates I should wear my own, but that shade of green does nothing for me. I—”

“Petyr.” Catelyn interrupted him gently yet firmly. “Please, stop this. You cannot fight tomorrow.”

“Actually, I can, unless I somehow lose my legs and arms before tomorrow morning.”

“This is not a matter for jest!” Catelyn cried. “Nobody wants you to fight. Not my family, not Brandon, and certainly not I. All of us are willing to forget this ever happened if you will call off the challenge. There is no good reason for you to go through with this!”

“You’re a good reason.”

His voice was low. He did not smile. Never in all Petyr’s years at Riverrun had Catelyn ever heard him sound so serious. She sighed and placed her hands on his shoulders. “I do love you, as a very dear friend and a second brother. So you can see why I do not want you risking your life for me.”

Petyr shook his head. “I can’t just let you marry him.”

“Why not?” she asked him. “You’ve known for years that this would happen. I’ve been betrothed to Brandon Stark since we were children.”

“ _You_ are the one who must swear your life away, not your father,” he said. “If this is the only way to stop that, then so be it. It’s not right that you should have to abide by this against your wishes, Cat.”

“When did I say I did not wish it?”

Petyr frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Petyr, Brandon and I are very fond of each other. We’ve gotten to know each other well over the years, if only in letters. This match suits us _and_ our fathers,” Catelyn said. “I thought you knew that.”

Petyr’s brow furrowed in genuine confusion. “But… but I thought…”

“What did you think?” Catelyn looked at him oddly. Why on earth did he look so perplexed by the obvious? “I’m sorry if you thought differently, but I have never even thought of marrying anyone but Brandon.”

“You’re lying!” Petyr tore away from her. “You can’t just pretend we didn’t…” He paused. “Ah, I see now. This is a trick, isn’t it? You’re under so much pressure to prevent the duel that you’re lying to me. Very clever.”

Catelyn stared at him. “Everything I have said is true,” she said slowly. “And whatever you choose to believe, trust me on this: I do not want you to fight tomorrow. I will never forgive you if you do, no matter what your fate is.”

Doubt crossed his face, and for a moment, Catelyn thought she had talked sense into him. But then he shook his head and turned away. “In that case,” he said, “I suppose I must get used to living out of your good graces, however long the living lasts.”

Catelyn glared at him. “You are being utterly foolish.”

“Most likely. I don’t believe I care.” He raised his eyes to meet hers, icily calm. “If you have nothing encouraging to say, Cat, then I bid you goodnight.”

“Petyr—”

He walked past her and held the door open. “Goodnight, Cat.”

She sighed heavily. _Perhaps he will have changed his mind tomorrow. Please, let it be so._ “Goodnight.”

As Catelyn turned to leave, she nearly collided with Lysa in the doorway. She could easily guess why her sister had come. “Lysa, he isn’t in the mood to listen to anyone,” Catelyn told her. “Let’s—”

Lysa ignored her. “Petyr! Oh, Petyr, I have to tell you something. Please…”

Petyr groaned. “Oh, not _now, _Lysa__

 _“Please, you must listen to me, _please!_ ” Lysa pushed past Catelyn. “It’s important!”_

“I’m sure it is.” He slammed the door shut.

“No!” Lysa beat her fists against the door. “Come out here so I can tell you! Come _out!_ You have to know!” When it was clear that there would be no answer, she burst into tears.

“Lysa…” With her last remaining ounce of patience, Catelyn gently pulled her away. “Come, we should prepare for bed. You can tell him in the morning.”

“But he doesn’t _know_ …” Lysa sobbed. She glowered at Catelyn. “He’s being stupid for _you_ , you know. Why don’t you fix it?”

Without waiting for a reply, Lysa stormed off down the hall. Catelyn sank wearily against the wall. “I have tried,” she murmured to the air. “Seven hear me, I will keep trying.” _But I can promise nothing._

\- - - - -

Catelyn slept very little that night. Judging from the circles under the eyes of everyone assembled at the dueling ground, nobody else had, either.

“Cat!”

Petyr jogged up to her, his steps awkward. He wore only a breastplate and mail, but they were much too big for him and weighed him down. They also sported dents and spots of rust; Petyr must have scrounged them from the armory. _He cannot possibly win like this._ “Petyr, you mustn’t do this.”

“I know I don’t have your blessing,” he said. “Just… please, Cat. A favor. Stand on Brandon’s side of the field, cheer for him if you must, but at least give me a favor to wear.”

He looked so small, with his bright eyes and his man’s armor that did not fit. The breastplate was not even cinched properly. Catelyn bit the inside of her cheek. “Don’t do this,” she pleaded again. “You can call it off now. Nobody will think any less of you.”

“ _Please_ , Cat.” He looked at her desperately. “I’ll keep it hidden if that’s what you want. Just give me _something._ ”

Catelyn took a deep breath. “What I want,” she told him, “is for you to take off your armor and stop this nonsense. If you do, I will love you for it, but I meant what I said last night. I will _not_ condone this.”

She turned her back on him and walked away as fast as she could. _It is not your fault. If he dies, it was his doing, not yours. You tried to stop him. You can’t force him to listen._ She found Brandon a few yards away. Edmure was helping him take off his armor. Had Brandon declined the challenge? She dared to hope. “Brandon, what—”

“I am making it a more even fight, that is all,” he told her. “There is no joy in this, but there will be even less if our armor is so mismatched.”

“I tried to give him mine,” Edmure said miserably. “He wouldn’t take it.”

“You did all you could,” Catelyn assured him. She looked back over her shoulder. Petyr was watching her, trying his best to refuse the ribbon Lysa was now trying to give him. Catelyn reached into her cloak and pulled out her handkerchief. _A favor..._ There was one tactic left that she had not yet tried.

“Brandon,” she said loudly. She kept her eyes on her betrothed, but turned so Petyr was sure to see. She unfurled the handkerchief. “Wear this for me when you fight.”

As she leaned forward to tie it around his arm, she stole a glance at Petyr. He had seen. He looked as though he had been slapped. Catelyn stood on tiptoe to whisper in Brandon’s ear. “Don’t kill him,” she begged him. “He is like a brother to me, however rash he is. Do what you must to make him yield, but please don’t kill him.”

“I won’t,” he promised. “On my honor as a Stark.”

Catelyn looked back once more at Petyr. He was glaring at her now, his jaw tightly clenched as he allowed Lysa to tie her ribbon around his wrist. Catelyn met his gaze without blinking. _I am sorry, Petyr. But a broken heart is better than a senseless death. If this is the only way to make you understand that, then so be it._


End file.
